Tethered
by Mismallark
Summary: In an attempt to cut back on nuclear dependency, an alternative power source referred to as 'Herengoid' is created by an international team of scientists. More and more countries adopt this new form of power, until catastrophe hits. Global divisions are made, people are lost, people are found, and those remaining are shipped off to underground Sanctuaries. *Refurbished*
1. Cameras and Observations

**A/N:** As characters as introduced, unless the name is obvious, I'm going to make a note about what name which countries have. This chapter, it's Liechtenstein (who doesn't have a canon name, from what I can tell) as Erika Vogel-Zwingli.

_**Edit:** All of the chapters are going to be updated, then further chapters released._

* * *

**Erika Vogel-Zwingli**

**_Western Romania_**

I wait until the guard passes me and makes his way down the corridor. I make sure to keep out of sight, though it's not very hard for me. I doubt that he'd know to look for me, anyway. As soon as he's gone, I step out from the unused store room and into the hall. There shouldn't be another guard passing by here for awhile.

I managed to get a look at the scheduled patrol times earlier. It was surprisingly easy, considering that the patrols are what is supposed to guarantee our safety. I'm not sure from what, though; they never specify. Maybe once a month we get called into the dining hall outside of dining times for a big 'meeting'. They go over the rules, the 'mission statement' of UWEG and sometimes updates about research or outside patrols. The updates are usually vague though. They only approve of certain people going out, and they are the ones to whom the outside patrols are assigned. Those that are 'capable' of handling the difficulties.

Unfortunately, I don't meet those standards. Fragile my-

I try not to curse. Always try to avoid it, whether out loud or just in my head. It's not something Basch would approve of. And, really, there's not much I can do about being confined to the Sanctuary. I can do plenty of other things to help inside, so I might as well leave actually going outside to the others. But that doesn't mean they get to keep it all to themselves.

It doesn't take me long to reach my destination. A simple room, one of several at the end of this hall. Every room in this compound is one of maybe four designs, and are assigned purposes as such. For example, all the residential rooms look identical, so all our bedrooms are close to looking exactly the same. There's also the dining area, but I think there might be one especially designated for the officials and guards, because I rarely ever see them eat with the rest of us. There's also office-like rooms, for whatever the officials have a need for, which make up most of the rooms here. The final type would be the records rooms.

What I enter is one of these records rooms. It's dark when I enter, and I grope around the edges by the door for the light switch. This room's lights are on a dimmer switch, so when I find it, I turn it up just barely enough for me to see. Hopefully it's not that visible from the outside. The room reminds me of libraries that my brother used to have in the house we shared, though on a smaller scale. Rather than hundreds of rows of books, there is only a handful, spread from wall to wall. The room itself is pretty small. On these shelves are records of observations and scouting missions. Another room somewhere else in the building holds reports on research and levels of contamination.

I haven't been outside in so long. I know that someone found and salvaged a camera about a month ago, because everyone started arguing about how it should be used. Elizaveta wanted to use it to keep track of our daily lives. I agreed with her, to an extent, but there isn't much about our lives worthy of documenting. It's been the exact same, almost every day since we were all gathered here. Sometimes I try to keep a journal, just to pass the time, but it just ends up being filled with descriptions of whatever we had to eat, or what guards and officials I run into on that day. There's not a whole lot of activities to do down here; we mostly have to depend on human interaction, although there are a lot of books around. There's cards, and some board games as well, but nobody's ever really interested in using them. Hungary likes to tell stories, either about her early life, or ones that she makes up on the spot.

Eventually, one of the officials in charge of running this Sanctuary for us stepped forward and decided that the camera would be used on excursions outside. Officials don't tend to venture outside, because they're in charge of making sure that everything inside runs smoothly. The officials are really just members of what is left of our governments. There's not much of a hierarchy among them anymore, because our governments joined together when everything went critical. I don't know what happened to the leaders, because there doesn't seem to be any of them here. Maybe they didn't make it. I know most stayed in the larger cities. That thought upsets me, because many of them were great people. I wonder what happened to their families...

The officials take care of everything now, working collaboratively with each other. Poland claims that their only purpose is to make the rest of us do the work for them, and that the whole thing with the camera was a perfect example of that. The camera was a way for them to see what the situation was without actually doing the work.

The pictures from those scouting missions are what I'm looking for. The photos of the outside, from other parts of Romania, from other countries, anything that's worth –or maybe not even worth– documenting. I want to see those pictures I just want confirmation that there's something left out there. I don't want to take the word of the scouts and the officials.

There's six shelves total in each row, of which there are two, and they seem to be pretty much evenly split. An observation for every report, a folder for each folder. The shelves on the right half of this room are the ones dedicated to observations. The ones on the left are written reports on anything taken from the outside. Scavenging (or 'salvaging', as the officials demand we say to refer to this) is not something taken lightly. Heren's a lot more dangerous than it was originally given credit for, so there are strict regulations on what is actually brought into the Sanctuary. pThe files are sorted by proximity to our location. Little faded post-it notes line the edges of the shelves, illustrating what lies where, with those closest starting on the shelves closest to the wall. The newest ones will be the ones with pictures, and will be at the end of each respective section. I choose a folder from the five-kilometer-distant section, which is on the end of the first shelf. I figure that if we haven't been put on lockdown, the immediate area must be safe enough, and therefore the same as usual.

Rifling through the folder, I try to skim the reports. They're folders like you would have seen in office buildings and at hospitals. Just worn Manilla folders, with confirmation of the proximity and the range of dates written on the front. Finally, towards the back of the folder, I find a few images attached to some of the papers.

I'm not quite sure what I was expecting. Maybe glowing plants, or flat, empty expanses like you would see in movies. Maybe mutant animals, or the skeletal remains of people everywhere. Really, it just looks the same as it does just outside the compound. Plants that look like they may or may not be dead, and dry, cracked earth. I think it rains still, but I don't think the ground absorbs it as well anymore. As disappointing and anti-climactic as the pictures might be, I feel kind of relieved at the same time. Maybe it means that we could spread out farther. That we can send out more patrols, that we could even travel to see if there's anything left in other countries. I'd like to visit my country, if only to feel the comfort of being home, of being in a place that is mine. I used to visit my country often, and spent about half my time there. I still lived with my brother though. I'd... I'd also like to visit Switzerland. Just to check. Just to see.

A hand clamps down on the file, closing it. "You probably shouldn't be here."

I look up to meet the reddish eyes of Romania, the host of our Sanctuary. My cheeks burn; I hadn't expected to get caught, and it's nothing if not poor manners to go rooting through someone's belongings. Because, while the files might not belong to Romania personally, they belong to his country, which is more or less the same thing. I don't say anything. I can't think of anything that would be appropriate to say in this situation. I just let him take the file from me and fit it back onto the shelf. He doesn't seem angry, but without waiting for him to turn back around, I hurry out of the room.

Making my way through the maze of halls and corridors, I end up in Nation's living quarters. This is divided into a central living area with a bunch of small, adjoining bedrooms for the Nations that reside here. It's on the edge of the residential area, but we're kept separate from the civilians. Civilians taken from each country that resides here. We still intermingle with them, of course, because it's a simple comfort, to be able to converse in our own languages. The decorations in our rooms are minimalist, with only the bare necessities, although the central area has many couches, chairs and tables arranged in a circular fashion. More than the few of us here need. This is our special place, we were told. Nobody else was allowed to be in here, except for officials.

Elizaveta, who is sitting on one of the couches, looks up from her work when I enter. "Where've you been, Erika?" She holds up a bundle of cloth that trails across her lap. "We're on repairs today."

"I'm sorry," I say. "I was just trying to find something."

Elizaveta gestures to the large table in the center. Two large pile of various colored fabrics sit there, all of them variations of dark shades. One pile is folded nicely, meaning that Eliza's already sorted through those. I grab something from the other pile and run my fingers over it, checking for damage. The maintenance of the scouts' protective clothing is one of the few tasks that I'm ever assigned. Elizaveta nods her head in approval as I start, mending a small hole in the cloth she holds. "Did you find it?"

"I found what I was looking for, but it wasn't what I was trying to find."

"So it goes," she says.

We fall into a companionable silence as we work through the pile. I've known Hungary for many, many years, but we only started to get close since we gathered here. I think she likes to view me as a sort of little sister to her. I'm not quite sure what I see her as. Whatever it is, it's a role familiar enough that we can call each other by something other than our country names. She's been so insistent, that I find it hard to think of her or to refer to her as Hungary anymore. I grab a needle and some heavy-duty thread from the table, so that I can repair a rip in the sleeve of what I discover to be a jacket.

The two of us manage to make our way, ever so painstakingly, through several pieces of gear before someone shows up to inform us that dinner's being served. We immediately stop, because we can always come back and finish later. It's early, only about 5 o' clock, but they only serve food for half an hour at a time, to maximize productiveness, the officials claim. So that everyone gets in there and out in time enough to keep us all busy. Sometimes, if we go through an especially successful period, in terms of reports and general productivity, they splurge on meals. They give us better food than usual, and let us stay for longer.

The food here is usually fairly simple. At best, we get almost as many nutrients as we would have before. At worst, our meals are meager and just-barely sustaining. Both scenarios are rare, with the worst of the two only having happened once. It was a period of three days, back in the beginning, when we had an influx of population from outside. They had hidden out in a bomb shelter, but ran out of supplies. Somehow they ended up finding the Sanctuary, and we took them in.

The officials had probably panicked about the numbers, because they gave us the bare minimum, trying to ration the food until they realized that they didn't need to. I guess they did a refiguring of what steps were necessary to sustain ourselves, and adjusted accordingly. Meals quickly went back to the food we usually receive, which is good enough that we stay healthy, even if the dishes aren't very fancy. I like to think that my brother would appreciate the simplicity of the food.

Elizaveta and I enter the dining hall, which is about sixty feet by fifty feet. Two rows of five metal and ceramic tables span the length of the hall, with plain, metal chairs. On one side are restaurant-style swinging doors, which open into the kitchen. Food is brought out in platters, plates and cutlery are handed out, and we can choose what we want to eat. We're encouraged to eat as much as is set out, because they try to avoid serving leftovers. The kitchen staff have gotten the proportions down to a science, so just enough is made to feed everyone.

Only a few people are gathered here so far. More will come soon, and almost every seat in this hall will be filled. I don't know the exact numbers, because I've never bothered to ask. I think that I don't really want to think about how few people there are left. Eliza and I take our seats at the end closest to the door, which is the place that we try to take every meal. Nothing's assigned, but most people tend to choose the same spots, with the same people. We look for familiarity where we can find it. Soon, we're joined by Austria and Poland, who were working down in the kitchen stores today. Down on one of the sub-levels, where residents aren't allowed to go, there are more store rooms, but only officials and guards go down there.

Poland and Hungary chatter to each other, but I don't think they pay much attention to what's being said. They were part of the Visegrád group, those two, but they don't seem to be very close. I don't pay attention to what they're saying, either. As much as I like my meal mates, I'm feeling kind of drawn, exhausted. Austria pipes in with a sarcastic comment occasionally, and Hungary turns to ask me something every now and then. I respond, but my heart's not into it.

Maybe it's because I had really worked myself up before I snuck off to look at the photos. I had been hoping for something more. Something to give me hope. Maybe it's because I felt so conflicted about the result, that I found nothing that I could use to fuel my hope. Maybe it's neither of those two.

Really, regardless of my nation's people that stay here, regardless of the other Nation's here, I'm still alone.

No matter what, my brother is gone, and there is nothing to suggest otherwise.


	2. Almost Alone

**A/N:** Yay for recognized canonical names? Also, build-up for forever, man.

_**Edit:** Chapter two is all fixed up. Now with Kumajiro, who was going to be introduced maybe seven chapters later._

* * *

**Matthew Williams**

**_Central Greenland_**

_Contamination levels: 40%._

_Contamination radius: 8 kilometers_

_Proximity to safe house: ..._

This is where my record keeping gets confusing. We've gotten three separate reports in, regarding this particular hotspot. Each one claims something different. Two of them are close enough together, which makes me think they're the ones closer to what it actually is. The third is my brother's report. Even though he always has to do things his own way, I'm still surprised the results are so weird. I'll have to ask someone to look into this.

Nobody's been sent to this hotspot yet, so these three reports are merely from observations on trips to other hotspots. We've been trying to log as much information as we can about them, to use for research purposes. And to know which ones are too dangerous to approach. There was only one reactor on Greenland, used for testing, but that was located on the southern shore. There were multiple sites that stored the substance, though, which were probably affected when the plant went off. The larger plants in every country caused huge chain reactions, which is how we got to where we are now.

One of the research officials approaches my table, leaning over to peer at the reports beside the old, fragile computer. One of two here, powered by a backup generator. The screen flickers a bit every few minutes, but other than that, it's in pretty good condition. "Nice going, America," he says. I'm not sure if he's confusing me for my brother, or commenting on Alfred's outlier results, but I honestly can't bring myself to care much.

I quickly make a note on the file that this hotspot will have to be looked into further, and then let the others in the observation room know that I'm leaving. A few look up, acknowledging me, but most just continue working. I don't think that it's that they're ignoring me, just that they're busy. For months, the researchers have been trying desperately to try to find something to neutralize Herengoid. Some people are very against the thought, saying that experimentation was what ruined everything. I type in the code that freezes the computer, ensuring that nobody without the code can fiddle with anything. I grab a sheet of paper and scribble a note about checking the figures. I fold the paper, leave it on the keyboard and then exit.

My first thought is to track down Al. Of course, he's otherwise engaged at the moment, so I can't really do that. Speaking of Al, he is due back soon, but it will be awhile yet. Having nowhere else to go right now, I decide to head back to my room. The hallways here are really convoluted, and I struggle, as always, to make my way back.

Taking two less wrong turns than usual, I end up in my familiar hallway. There's a thin, red rug along the length of this hallway, distinguishing it as residential. There are twelve rooms, including mine, six on each side. I don't really know the others, though I've tried talking to a few. There's an old man at the end of the hall who lived in Nova Scotia, but I rarely see him.

I enter my room, keeping the gap I slip through small, in order to prevent Kumajiro from slipping through. It turns out I didn't even need to worry about that. The poor bear's just collapsed on my bed, not really doing much of anything. He lifts his head a bit when I enter, but immediately lets it drop.

I sit on the bed next to him and rub his ears. "Hey buddy. How're you doing?"

He grumbles in the back of his throat, but that's it. I wish Alfred had been able to take Kuma with him. Poor guy needs to get out. I used to let him wander around the Sanctuary, but people were scared of him. Apparently they had a problem with a polar bear wandering around.

I lean back onto the covers, and pull the little bear up onto my stomach. His body just hangs limply, and he flops into place. His apathy's been getting worse recently. I think I'll see if I can get one of the next scouting missions, so I can take Kuma outside. He'd enjoy that, getting to stretch his legs and getting some fresh air.

My room's pretty bare, besides a shelf of books and various treasures. I have a few containers of glass collected from sandy, Canadian beaches, and some little knick-knacks I've collected over the years. Stuff like my mug made from maple leaves. It's actually one of the coolest things I've ever found; it was in a gift shop in Ontario, and they covered each leaf in the thinnest layer of plastic possible, before melding it into the shape of a cup. The leaves are all overlapped, too, so that it actually holds liquid. When the Prime Minister called me to let me know he had made plans for me to come to this Sanctuary, and that I had to leave right away, I took the time to grab some things of mine. Some of them sentimental, some of them not so much.

"Can I go for a walk?" Kumajiro asks. His voice is a lot softer than usual. I place my hands around his belly and slide him up so that he's resting on my chest, facing me, his nose almost touching my chin. He looks at me with unhappy eyes.

"Sure buddy," I tell him. I probably shouldn't, but if I keep him away from the busier hallways, it shouldn't be a problem. "But you have to make sure to stick close to me, okay?"

He makes this high-pitched rumbling noise, so I pick him up and set him on the floor. He looks up at me, waiting for me to leave. He may be kind of sassy when he's feeling more energetic, but he's always been pretty obedient.

I stick my head out into the hallway first, making sure that there's nobody out there. A guard would demand that I put Kumajiro back, or report to an official. An official would demand that we stick him outside, because he's a 'terror to the population'. A resident would report him either to a guard or an official. So, really, anyone sees him, and we're screwed. Thankfully, the hallway's completely empty.

I slip out, holding the door open for my little bear to lumber out after me. I close the door quietly, and we make our way down the hall. We stick to the more obscure hallways, the ones that lead to dead ends or unused rooms. They all branch off at some point or another, so it\s not like we got stuck in a corner or anything. It would have been a lot quicker to go pretty much any other way, and I would usually be kind of annoyed at the extra time we use up, but if it's for Kuma, I don't mind. He even perks up as we go along, trotting forward a bit, and then running back between my legs.

There's a small area up on the Western side of the compound, like a waiting room. It's pretty much just a few couches clustered together in the corner. Most of the hallways are either on slopes or are attached to stairwells, meaning most of the Sanctuary is underground. This room, our 'entryway', isn't. There's a tall, clear wall that is currently completely obscured by huge metal shutters. When they're raised, you can see the outside perfectly. Sometimes some official or other asks that they're raised. That's rare, though. Kumajiro stares at the grates, but they don't hold his attention for long.

Fixed into the clear wall is a large, heavy metal door with a complicated lock. Like the kind you see on bank vaults. I've only gone outside a few times since we were taken here, and from those times I can remember that after that door is a series of corridors separated by more bank-lock-doors.

Not many people ever wait here. Usually just Al or myself, if one or the other is out. So it's usually just me here. I settle onto what I like to think of as 'my couch', lounging in a way I know I'd be embarrassed for anyone to actually see. I lean over and pick up Kumajiro from the floor, setting him on the back of the couch. He blinks at me a few times, before running along the back and bounding onto one of the other couches. He plays around like that for awhile, jumping from couch to couch and occasionally landing on my leg or my chest. I content myself with watching his frolicking.

It's not long before Alfred arrives. A tiny red light starts flashing, indicating that an alarm has started in the watch room. Whoever's on watch will use the cameras to check on who's trying to get in. If it's one of our people, they'll unlock the bank-lock-doors one by one. If it's not, they sound an alarm that goes throughout the entire compound. No alarm picks up out here. There's never been a time where the alarm has sounded, but we get refreshed on the safety procedures every month, just in case it ever does.

It takes about ten minutes for Alfred to make his way through the air lock. The whole process is pretty over-the-top, in my opinion, and could be ten times simpler. By the time he makes it into the Sanctuary itself, he has his protective clothing already bundled under one arm and a huge grin on his face as he looks around for me. Now he's just wearing his usual t-shirt and jeans. I kind of hate it, that I've become so predictable that he knows I'm definitely going to be here. Nothing else to do, besides wait for Al the hero to get back. Maybe, just once, I shouldn't wait here for him. See the look on his face _then_. Actually, it probably wouldn't even matter to him. I mean, I know he appreciates that I meet him, but he'd be just as happy to go find me afterwards. Which he'd surely do.

"Mattie!" he says, strutting towards me. He drops the clothing by the door. I rise from the couch (having stopped my awkward lounging awhile ago) and step forward to meet him. He pulls me into a big hug, which kind of hurts a little bit. Kuma just notices that I'm missing from my place, and peers over the back of the couch at us. I give him a little salute, which he tries to mimic clumsily. It's really funny watching him try to do the things that I do.

"Nice to see you didn't die," I tell him, poking my brother in the stomach. Why is his stomach so hard? God, why is mine so soft? I try not to cringe at his tight grip. He's never known his strength, not even when we were kids. Actually, when we were little, I used to be as strong as he was. I'm not sure what happened though. Sometimes I wish that I still was, but I think I appreciate the more gentle nature that I have now.

Al mostly lets go of me, but keeps one arm around my shoulders, and starts dragging me along. I'm a little annoyed at this, but my relief wins out. In truth, it really would suck to have Alfred die or disappear like everyone else. I know there's one kid here that lost his brother; I feel sorry for the poor sap, though he probably would throw a fit if anyone ever said that.

There are a lot of people that have lost somebody. There are a lot of people that have lost everybody. Me? As sad as I am about our Sanctuary most likely holding the only survivors on Earth, I'm glad that I have my brother.

It makes me feel a little bit less alone.


	3. Looking for Fun

**A/N: **Hi reader, meet our soon-to-be dear friend Romania. I think he might be one of my new favorites. He's just so wonderfully fantastic. Also, I like the idea of nations cursing in their native languages. So yeah.

Fun fact: the country of Liechtenstein has less than a tenth of the population of my little city.

* * *

**Andrei Dalca**

**_Western Romania_**

Hosting a Sanctuary like this can be kind of fun occasionally. This isn't one of those times.

Usually it means that I get to know just a little bit more than all the other nations that are here. I'm not allowed to tell them what I know, of course, but usually there's not much to share. I guess it's because I'm the host country, and my country's government is the most prominent here. I occasionally get called into these meetings, filled with officials, which is when I learn these things. A lot of the times they're about the state of the world. There's actually been a few wanderers going about, but the officials never let them enter. The most interesting thing I ever heard during one of those meetings is that there just might be other Sanctuaries littered about in other countries, but all the officials seemed really nervous about that idea. I guess something like that would be important to know, but if the people or Nations living here heard, there'd be an uproar. They would want to go find their loved ones from other countries, the ones who were supposedly lost.

I think that if I were in a position like that, I'd want to find my friends and family as well. Look for them, visit the last places they'd been. Even if they hadn't made it. The resoluteness that would come would make everything worth it. But I can also see where the officials are coming from. It would be chaos, absolute chaos. And it's guaranteed that it would be too dangerous outside for droves of people to meander along the wastelands.

I don't often get to take part in the meetings that I attend, just sit in and see what they talk about. But during the one where they informed me of the possibility of other Sanctuaries, and they wanted to keep it from the people here, I suggested looking into it farther, and letting them know once more information, both on the wastelands and the Sanctuaries, was collected. Many of the officials didn't seem particularly happy about my interjections, but I didn't really care. Almost of all of them were pissy me with being there to begin with, so what was another reason for them to be angry?

The meetings are something that I look forward to, regardless of any pissy officials. They spice things up a bit, give me something new to ponder. Sometimes I take the topics they discuss, and bring them up in conversations I have with other residents. Poland takes a really big interest in these conversations, and thinks I'm secretly an anti-government conspiracy theorist. I think he just likes to gossip, and masquerade it as something other than gossip.

For maybe a few weeks, I've just been hovering around, waiting for something to happen. That's pretty much how life around here usually goes, truth be told, but I used to be able to find many ways to occupy myself. For awhile, I read a lot. Anything I could find, from cheesy fantasy novels to how-to guides. Those were actually my two favorite genres. The guides because I liked to try to emulate whatever the lesson was just by reading the first sentence of every step. The fantasy novels because they remind me of all sorts of fairytales, and they're just so imaginative and vivid. Such a stark distinction between them and the reality we live now.

Everything's been pretty static. If this were a fairy tale, a bunch of little things would start happening to foreshadow some huge event that would be waiting just around the corner. Something tragic and horrible, but not unfixable. Something that would give everyone hope, and would band everyone together, and would erase all of the animosities and differences between us. But I suppose that, in all the centuries and millennia we've been fighting and settling into that 'us vs. them' mentality, it's unlikely we're going to change now. How many times have we prepared for an oncoming apocalypse, only for every to continue onward as usual, seeking personal salvation and justification, rather than mutual and global amenity? Of course, I'm not exception, so perhaps I should just let it be.

I haven't seen much of the other Nations here, recently. Other than at meal times, when everyone gathers together. Occasionally some person on the compound will get rather depressed, and start skipping meals. It can get kind of dreary here, so it's understandable, but it's still very upsetting. Poland and I team up every time we hear about this happening, and go try to cheer them up. We speak to their friends, or their family, before we do anything, and then bring their favorite things down to the person's room. We spend a lot of time with them, until they start to feel a little more hopeful. It's a gratifying feeling, helping an individual like that, and because of it Poland and I know a lot of the civilians living here. We can greet most of them by name. Poland may be a friend of Hungary's, but he's a good guy. Actually, I don't mind any of the people who hang around with her. Austria seems like a decent enough fellow, and Liechtenstein's just the sweetest thing, like a little princess.

I ran into little Liechtenstein in the oddest of places the other day. The records room, interestingly enough. At first I wondered if she knew anything about the meetings and the other potential other Sanctuaries, because she seemed to be looking for something specific. Before I could ask anything about it, though, she ran off. I don't think I'm that scary... But who knows. Maybe Hungary's been poisoning her with stories of vampires and stupid tales about Vlad III.

Restlessness has been seeping into my bones, lately, which only makes the monotonous environment that much worse. Or maybe it's because everything's been so repetitive and dull. When I'm not doing whatever odd jobs need to be done around the Sanctuary, I've been wandering the halls. The extra help is certainly welcome, but there's only so much I can handle doing, and only so much free time that the other workers actually want.

I used to get really lost during my wanderings, because of the immense number of rooms and hallways, but I have almost the entire floor plan memorized now. I even have favorite routes, and can easily figure out the fastest way to get almost anywhere in the entirety of the Sanctuary.

After getting politely kicked out of the kitchen store room, allowing the regulars to continue with their assigned work, I set myself onto one of my less-traveled routes. Another perk of being the host country is that I can go a fair number more places that the others can't. Thus, my walk takes me down to the sub-levels.

I see a flash of blonde and pink down one of the hallways, and I almost give a laugh. Instead, I slow my pace and meander along behind little Liechtenstein. She seems quite skilled at this, or at least more so than I expected. She stops every few feet, freezing and listening for any chatter or footsteps that would indicate an approaching guard. Few people actually pay attention to them, the rest just tune out their noisy, thick-soled, clacking shoes. I guess both she and I are one of those few. I, myself, don't bother with anything less than my usual gait.

I've already guessed where she's heading before it's apparent. Her back probably as tall and straight as she can manage, she gives up the sneaking routine and pads down the final hall. She glances back for the first time, and I move myself back around the corner. This is way too easy. I flatten myself against the wall, bend my knees into a squat and lean over to stick my face around the corner.

Unfortunately for Liechtenstein, the door to the records room is locked today. She struggles with the handle, planting her feet and trying ineffectually to push open the door. Poor thing doesn't realize that they lock up sections on days that nobody's assigned to work there.

Tucking in three of my fingers, I hold my hand in front of me in the likeness of a fake gun. I slip around the corner, bringing my other hand to rest on my gun-wrist, before I realize that it would probably look kind of questionable and stop. Don't want to freak out the little one. I relax my shoulders and adopt an easy smile, before strolling forward to confront her.

"I don't think you're going to get in there," I say to her. She stops, her body completely motionless. She turns around slowly, pressing her back into the door.

"No," she says. She meets my gaze evenly.

I cross my arms, shifting all my weight to one leg. "Why is it that you keep coming back here?"

"Because I can." She tilts her chin up, and her back straightens again. "Nobody's stopped me."

"I doubt anyone besides me knows that there's anything to stop."

She steps away from the door, and down the hall a few feet. She stares me down, probably trying to imitate one of her brother's glares. I laugh and hold my hands up in front of me. "Don't worry, I won't tell. What are you looking for? Maybe I can help."

She obviously doesn't trust me. I swear, I'm going to get Hungary sent out on a scouting mission and then barricade the doors so she can't come back. Liechtenstein glances towards the door. "Pictures."

"Of what?" I ask her.

"Anything. Everything."

I scrutinize the Nation. Her frame is small, tiny, and it's doubtful that she's very strong or hardy. But I know her brother, just a tiny bit better than I know Liechtenstein, which is close to not at all. If there's one thing I know about Switzerland, it's that he was very protective. I don't imagine it would be much of a stretch to assume that he trained her how to take care of herself, on the off chance that he couldn't protect her forever.

"When was the last time you were outside?" she asks me, just as I start to ask her.

"Two months ago. I was out for three hours. You?"

"Seven months ago. When we first came here."

So she's been inside since the very start. I wonder why she was brought here, but her brother wasn't. Perhaps there wasn't a brother to take, when we were collected from our homes and sent here. "Were you sick?"

"A little. My population was always pretty small, and a fair number were brought here. I still felt it though."

When the Heren plants started going off, causing the rest of it to go as well, a lot of people died. Some right away, because of the force of the blasts, some shortly later because of contamination. It took a real toll on us Nations, losing such significant portions of our population so quickly. It was... debilitating, to say the least. Mentally emand/em physically. I spent the first several weeks confined to my new bed.

We both murmur the required condolences. Only a fellow Nation could properly understand the loss we've experienced. She looks uncomfortable now, and buckles in on herself. She fidgets with the hems of her sleeves.

"Why don't you ask to go?" I say. There's a hollowness to the atmosphere, now. It makes emme/em feel uncomfortable.

"What?"

"Outside. On patrols. If you want to see so badly."

A wry smile twists at her lips, looking strange on her features. "I'm too fragile."

"If Poland get can approved, I'm sure you could, if you got someone to go with you." I give Liechtenstein another appraising glance. Her clothes cover much of her skin, but there's sure to be some muscle somewhere, if she's done any training at all.

"Poland's stronger than you'd think, so I'd doubt it."

"How old are you?" I say.

If it wasn't for that hint of something in her face, I'd say that she looks apathetic. Maybe it's innocence, or humility, but it sets her expression apart, makes it something other than unfeeling and blank. "Almost three hundred."

"You're not the youngest nation out there," I say. I hold a hand out to her, and she stares at it. "But I think you're old enough to stop letting others decide what's best for you."


	4. Mysterious Russian Travellers

**A/N: **Anri is Belgium. Just to let you guys know. Yeah. And I chose Abel for the Netherlands name.

* * *

**Anri Vermeulen**

_**North-Eastern France**_

I'm sitting in the place France likes to call the _détente_ area, chatting with none other than France himself, when my brother stalks by, equipped to the teeth with protective gear. Immediately, I jump up and follow, leaving France looking vaguely annoyed behind me on a red couch.

"Where are you going, Abey?" I ask him when I catch up.

"Out," he replies. Like it's the most normal thing in the world.

Our Sanctuary is very open and very beautiful. Tall, gilded archways and ornate, laminated floors. There's only four levels, two of which we can access, and then a huge staircase up in the northern-most section that leads to an air locked series of doors. So four and a half levels, I guess. There are fake flowers and plants everywhere too. I think France would have preferred them to be real, but everyone agrees that it's best that we save what water we can.

I link one of my arms with my brother's, forcing him to slow down. I pout up at him. "Without saying goodbye?"

"You were busy," he says. "I would have, but you seemed kind of star-struck." I respond by smacking his arm lightly.

We reach the northern staircase. It reminds me of something you would have seen at a ball decades upon decades ago. My brother and I slowly make our way up.

Abel is leaving to go visit one of the Dutch Sanctuaries along the border of the Netherlands. Every now and then he ventures up there to visit his citizens. He would have preferred to just stay in a Sanctuary with his people, but his boss somehow forced him to stay here. So he just goes on routine visits, instead.

We reach a small landing that looks very plain compared to the rest of the dwelling. The architects probably expected that most of the inhabitants would be spending their time in the fancier rooms, rather than right by the front door. The floor is still laminated, but it's just a simple white, and there are no arches or anything here. There is a small, red rug, but that's all the decoration for this spot.

"Well, good luck. Try to be careful, Abe?" I stand on my toes and kiss my brother's chin.

He gives me a crooked smile. "Who do you take me for? Mathias? I'll be fine."

I nod. "See you when you get back."

"See you when I get back." And with that, he makes his way through the many doors between us and the outside world.

After he's gone, I go back to where I left France. He's still there, except now joined by Antonio. I force myself into a spot between them, and immediately join in on their conversation. France looks a little miffed that I left earlier, but he'll probably forget it soon.

We mostly talk about our citizens and the other nations. Apparently, France heard that, not only are there tons of other sanctuaries that house of citizens, there's a handful that also house the other nations. This makes for very intense discussion.

"But I thought they were all gone? Dead?" I say, keeping my voice low. It wouldn't do for this to get around. On one hand, it could be false, and then everyone would be crushed. On the other hand, it could be true, and everyone would rush out to go find their loved ones.

"That's what we were told. But there was a traveler from the East," France informs us.

Spain pipes in at that. "Someone actually traveled across the wastelands?"

"Apparently." France hunches down, a hand rubbing his chin. "And he claimed to have been in contact with a Sanctuary in Eastern Russia before he came to France. Said he tried to get in, but they kicked him out."

"And that's why he came West?" Spain's brows are furrowed. Every time a straggler has shown up at our Sanctuary, Spain has demanded that we take them in. It makes sense that he'd be bothered by the thought of a Sanctuary leaving someone to fend for themselves in a wasteland.

"Why come this far? Why not try one of the countries closer to Russia?" I ask.

France shrugs. "Could be any number of reasons. Maybe there aren't any Sanctuaries fit to live in."

That would be worrying. I knew Europe was in bad form, but that would be much worse than expected. Glancing at a small, Swiss clock on a side table, I rise.

"Well, it was nice talking to you, gentlemen," I say, giving them a small curtsy. "But I'm afraid that I have some other business to attend to."

They both bid me goodbye before turning back to the topic of mysterious Russian travelers. I leave them to it, heading back to the staircase.

Near the entrance is a selection of protective gear. Simple enough, just heavy duty jackets and pants, with backpacks to take along. The backpacks have things such as water, food and other basic survival necessities. They're restocked regularly, for those going outside. I slip on a jacket and a pair of pants, before grabbing a backpack.

It's been approximately half an hour since Abel left. There's no way he'll see me leaving now.

I unlock the pressurized door and exit the French Sanctuary.


End file.
